


Five times Tater terrorizes his friends and teammates with mayonnaise

by rythyme (pugglemuggle)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Crack Treated Seriously, Culinary Abominations, Dumb Hockey Boys, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Other, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Providence Falconers, Russian Culture (sort of), Snacks & Snack Food, Team Bonding, discord made me do it, graphic descriptions of mayonnaise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24761572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pugglemuggle/pseuds/rythyme
Summary: ...and one time he doesn't.Or, Tater is Russian. Russia consumes more mayonnaise per capita than any other country in the world. Tater, however, takes his obsession with mayonnaise to another level entirely. Shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Alexei "Tater" Mashkov & Jack Zimmermann, Alexei "Tater" Mashkov & Providence Falconers, Alexei "Tater" Mashkov/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi, Alexei "Tater" Mashkov/Mayonnaise, background Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 41
Kudos: 73





	Five times Tater terrorizes his friends and teammates with mayonnaise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fox and Peaches (Sabotaging_Ivy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabotaging_Ivy/gifts).



> story time! 
> 
> back in april, i posted a video to the check please streaming discord where pittsburgh penguins players talk about all the weird foods they eat. for some reason, the discord decided to fixate on the part of the video where evgeni malkin talks about eating mayonnaise a lot. this sparked a several week-long mayonnaise WAR in the discord. graphic mayo images were shared. a mayo emoji was added. discord nicknames were changed to be either "pro-mayo" or "anti-mayo". crack fic was written. secret mayo-themed tumblr blogs were created.
> 
> eventually, all discussion of mayonnaise was banned from the server's main channels and relegated to the sin-bin channel only. to this day, any mention of mayo will result in immediate banishment to the sin bin.
> 
> and thus...this fic was born. please enjoy.

1.

Every player on the Providence Falconers has their quirks. 

It’s one of the first things Jack noticed about his team after signing his first Falcs contract three years ago. Every NHL team has their fair share of oddballs, but the Providence Falconers seem to have intentionally gathered the weirdest bunch of hockey players they could find — not that there’s anything wrong with a little weirdness. Jack knows that he’s got plenty of idiosyncrasies of his own. He fits right in.

That said, Jack will admit that Tater’s relationship with mayonnaise is… a little over the top.

“Nice game, Zimmboni,” Tater says, setting down the Xbox controller on Jack’s coffee table and leaning back into the couch. NHL ‘20 is on the TV screen, the tiny video game-versions of themselves celebrating their win against the Red Wings. “Much better now than first time we play, huh?”

Jack shrugs and grins. “Video games don’t come naturally to me.”

“But you _are_ better now,” Tater says. “And this is hockey video game. You don’t know video game, but you know hockey. If you play with me more often, you become pro.”

“Sure, Tater.”

Bitty is out of town this weekend, traveling to film a collab video with another cooking channel in Boston. When he told Tater about his lack of weekend plans and his empty apartment, Tater had packed up his Xbox and invited himself over for a weekend of NHL ‘20 championships. “Been forever since we play video games, Zimmboni,” Tater had said. “You’re like old man since you got engaged. Always with fiance.”

Jack doesn’t mind the teasing. Despite his lack of experience with video games, he does have to admit it’s fun, and he likes Tater’s company.

“I’m getting more chicken tenders from kitchen,” Tater says, getting to his feet as Jack flicks through their options for the next game. “You still have my mayonnaise jar?”

“Oh— Yeah.” Jack looks away from the TV. “It’s in the door behind the pickle jar. I don’t think Bits has found it yet.”

“Good. B might throw it away. Keep mayo jar secret for me, yeah?”

“I can’t make any promises. You know how Bits gets about the kitchen. The next time he goes through the fridge, he’ll throw it out.”

“Then I have to finish jar before Bitty gets back.”

With that, Tater heads to the kitchen. A few moments later, he reemerges with a plate of chicken tenders and a heaping bowl of mayonnaise. Jack eyes it skeptically.

“Why that look?” Tater sets the food onto the coffee table. “Mayonnaise is great dip.”

As he watches, Tater dips a chicken strip into the bowl, heaps a huge, jiggling blob of mayonnaise on the end of it, and pops the whole thing into his mouth. Jack winces a little despite himself. It’s not the grossest thing Jack’s seen a hockey player eat, but it’s definitely not pleasant to watch.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Jack says. “Let’s start another game.”

  
  


2.

“Uh… Do we really need five different jars of mayonnaise in here?” Poots asks, peering inside the fridge in the Falcs practice arena’s kitchenette. “Couldn’t we, like, share?”

Thirdy lets out a laugh. “Those aren’t five different guys’ mayonnaise, Poots. Pretty sure those are all Tater’s.”

“Tater’s?” Poots straightens and squints back at Thirdy. “Why would Tater have  _ five  _ open mayonnaise jars?”

Thirdy shrugs. “The guy eats a lot of mayo.”

“Okay, but— Oh. Speak of the devil.”

Tater walks into the practice facility kitchenette, his hockey bag in one hand and a hot dog in the other. “Hey,” he says. “Snack break, eh?” He reaches past Poots into the open fridge and retrieves one of the jars of mayonnaise from the fridge door. With no small amount of horror, Poots watches Tater unscrew the mayonnaise jar, set the lid on the counter, and dip his entire hotdog directly into the jar.

Damn. There goes Poots’ appetite. 

“See you in practice, yeah?” Tater says. He slings his bag a little further over his shoulder, hotdog still in hand as he holds the mayonnaise jar in the crook of his elbow. Then he heads back towards the locker room, eating the hotdog and redipping it into the mayonnaise jar as he goes. 

“I told you,” Thirdy says again when Tater turns the corner. “The dude likes his mayonnaise.”

Poots gets it now. When it comes to Tater, five jars of mayonnaise doesn’t seem too far fetched.

  
  


3.

Bitty tries not to criticize people for their favorite foods. Different people grow up with different backgrounds, and the foods that may be unusual in some cultures are considered delicacies in others. Who is Bitty to judge? And yet — despite his openness to other styles of food, there are some food combinations Bitty simply cannot accept. What he sees in Tater's kitchen during the Master Chef commercial break is one of them.

"Tater," Bitty says urgently, setting down the empty chip bowl and gripping the edge of the counter to keep his balance. "Is that...mayonnaise?"

Tater looks up, a knife in one hand and a mostly empty mayo jar in the other. On the counter is a plate of Ritz crackers, half of them slathered generously in the white condiment while the other half await their demise. Bitty shudders. 

"Is mayonnaise," Tater confirms. He condemns another cracker to its gloopy white fate before attempting to scrape a little more mayonnaise from the jar. "Is good with everything. We eat all the time in Russia."

“Right…” 

Tater must decide that the jar he’s been scraping at is as empty as it’ll get, because he sets the jar in the sink, balances the knife on the edge of the Ritz cracker plate, and heads towards a cupboard on the other side of the kitchen. “You never try mayonnaise and cracker, B?” he asks, his hand closing around the knob of the cabinet door. “That’s too bad. When I finish, you try some, yeah?”

Tater pulls open the cabinet. On every shelf are rows and rows of mayonnaise. It gives Bitty flashbacks to the Haus’s sriracha cupboard. 

“I think…” Bitty says faintly, “I’m okay, actually. Thanks Tater.”

He grabs a couple more drinks from the fridge for Jack and himself and makes a swift exit. 

“Jack,” he says as soon as he’s back in the living room. Jack must see something worrying in Bitty’s expression, because his face is immediately concerned. 

“Bits. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Tater,” Bitty whispers, taking his seat next to Jack. “He’s putting mayonnaise on crackers.”

“Oh.” Jack visibly relaxes. “Yeah. He does that.”

“You  _ knew  _ about this?” 

Jack shrugs. “I think it’s a Russian thing.”

A Russian thing. Bitty frowns. “It’s an abomination, is what it is.”

“I guess it is a little weird.”

“You guess?”

“Well, no. You’re right. It is weird.”

It’s still an understatement, but Bitty will take it. 

  
  


4.

“Hey, Cap? What’s this big mayo jar doing in the fridge?” Hops asks, holding up the big blue jar and eyeing it warily. “It’s been in here for like, forever, and at first I thought it was Tango’s, because someone Sharpied a big ‘T’ on it? But yesterday at the dining hall he said mayo was gross, so...”

Across the room, Dex looks up from coding the latest iteration of his capstone project and winces visibly. “Oh, he says. “You found Tater’s mayonnaise jar.”

“Tater?” Hops frowns. “Who’s Ta—”

Then the realization hits. 

“Oh shit, it’s Tater’s mayo,” Nursey says, swinging into the kitchen and dropping into the seat next to Dex at the kitchen table. “I thought we got rid of it?”

“We did,” Dex sighs. “He brought a new one when he came by for the championship kegster last year.”

“Ugh. Nasty.”

“Just...to clarify…” Hops interrupts. “When you say ‘Tater’, you mean Falcs D-man Tater?”

“Yep,” Nursey says, popping the ‘p’. “He’s like, mad obsessed with mayo for some reason.”

“You probably didn’t see it, since he only came by one or two times last year,” Dex tells him, “but whenever Tater is here for more than a couple hours, he brings a jar of mayonnaise, leaves it in our fridge, and then forgets to take it back with him.”

Hops squints at the mayonnaise jar. It doesn’t seem particularly threatening — but then, neither does Honey from Ouran High School Host Club, and that dude could straight-up kill a bitch. “Uh. Okay. But like, why does Tater keep bringing mayonnaise?” 

“To eat it,” Nursey says. “He eats mayo with literally everything.”

“Mayo with fries,” Dex says, beginning to count on his fingers. “Mayo with chicken tenders. Mayo with chips.”

“That’s not… _ that _ weird,” Hops says.

“Okay, but what about mayo with apples?” Nursey adds. “Or mayo with toast?”

“I’ve also seen him use mayonnaise instead of salad dressing,” Dex says, frown deepening. “Not mayonnaise mixed with something else — just mayonnaise and lettuce.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s… That’s pretty weird,” Hops admits. “What should we do with it?”

Dex and Nursey share a look.

“Throw it out,” Dex says.

“Yeah,” Nursey agrees. “Trash it.”

Hops nods, dutifully dropping the jar into the kitchen trash bin. Part of him wonders what could have made two relatively thrifty and environmentally conscious guys decide to throw away a seemingly perfect jar of mayonnaise without even trying to recycle the jar. Another part of him really doesn’t want to know.

  
  


5.

Tater comes by Haus 2.0 sometimes.

Ransom is totally cool with it. He’s way more chill around Tater than he used to be back at the Haus in Samwell. He’s fine. He definitely doesn’t still freak out about having a 6’4” professional hockey star hanging out in his living room, sitting on his second-hand couch and chatting with his roommates.

Definitely not.

Ransom grabs another beer from the fridge, leans against the kitchen counter, and tries to pretend like he’s not hiding a little bit. In the other room, Lardo, Shitty, and Holster are getting their asses beat by Tater in Mario Kart. It’s been a fun night. Tater is an entertaining guy, his booming laugh filling their small apartment easily. Ransom is having a good time, but something about Tater’s overwhelming presence leaves him feeling dizzy and tongue-tied. It’s like being drunk, only without the liquid confidence.

Or, well… Mostly without it, Ransom thinks as he takes another swig of his beer.

Ransom is still standing in the kitchen, nursing his drink and attempting to mentally recover from his very acute case of Alexei Mashkov Syndrome, when the eponymous hockey player himself pops his head into the kitchen.

“Hey, Ransom,” Tater says, glancing around the kitchen. “Just you?”

“Oh. Hey, Tater.” Ransom wills his spiking heartrate to  _ calm the fuck down _ , but his body does not seem too keen on cooperating. “I was getting another beer…? So, um. Yeah. Just me.”

“Good,” Tater says with a nod. He steps the rest of the way into the kitchen and opens the fridge. Ransom tries very, very hard to think of something else to say.

“So,” he flounders, “where’s everyone else?”

“Licking wounds,” Tater replies, throwing a grin over his shoulder. He moves a couple things around on the top shelf of the fridge, and then begins rummaging through the fridge door. “I win Flower Cup again. Lardo beats me in beer pong, but I still beat her in Mario Kart.”

“Haha. Yeah.”

Tater makes a victorious sound, finally retrieving a jar from the fridge door. Ransom immediately recognizes the blue label.

“Is that, um, mayo?”

“Yeah,” Tater confirms. He pulls open a drawer and retrieves a spoon. 

Ransom could never have prepared himself for what he witnesses next. After giving the kitchen and the connected hallway one last sly once-over, Tater unscrews the mayo jar, scrapes out a large scoop of mayo, and pops it straight into his mouth. Ransom feels frozen — locked in place, unable to do anything but watch. He’s pretty sure his staring is blatant at this point, but there’s not much he can do about it. He watches as Tater reattaches the lid, drops his spoon into the sink, and puts the mayonnaise away like this whole bizarre thing never happened.

“Um,” Ransom says faintly. “What was that?”

Tater grins and puts a finger to his lips. “Shh — is our secret, yeah?”

And then, because Ransom’s heart really can’t catch any breaks here, Tater  _ winks _ .

Ransom is still trying to recover from this ordeal as Tater leaves the kitchen. Part of him is disgusted — and rightly so. Ransom has seen a lot of gross shit after four years on a college hockey team, but this atrocity was next level. What kind of madman eats plain mayo straight from the jar?

Another part of him is obsessing over that wink. 

Huh. He’s probably going to have to do a lot of soul searching later.

  
  


+1

Snowy knows Tater is going to pull something at Falcs Family Day. He’s been acting weirdly secretive lately, giggling like a kid and grinning a little more mischievously than normal. It’s not unusual for Tater to prank their teammates, but it  _ is  _ unusual for him to plan his schemes this far in advance. Snowy fears the worst.

So, when Family Day arrives and Tater shows up with a huge jar of mayonnaise as his “plus one”, Snowy isn’t really surprised. He is, however, more than a little alarmed when Tater starts eating the mayonnaise straight out of the jar.

“Is Russian thing,” Tater explains. “You North Americans are too fussy. Everybody does this in Russia.”

“Everybody does  _ not  _ do this in Russia,” Korchinski whispers to Snowy fervently. “He’s full of shit.”

Tater is usually full of shit, so Snowy doesn’t doubt it. Tater may claim this is a Russian thing, but Snowy learned long ago that most of Tater’s “Russian things” are really just Tater things.

Tater spends the next hour or so doing his rounds, greeting their teammates’ family members like he isn’t simultaneously scooping pure mayonnaise into his mouth every other sentence. It’s fuckin’ nasty. Funny, Snowy admits, but still disgusting.

When Family Day begins to wind down and Tater has had his fill of terrorizing the Falcs’ friends and family, Tater comes to find him near the snacks table.

“Well, Snowy,” Tater says, mayo jar still cradled in the crook of his arm. “What you think?”

“About what?” Snowy asks, just to be a dick. Tater frowns.

“My prank. My mayonnaise.” He brandishes the jar. “What you think?”

“It’s pretty fucking gross, dude.”

“Is gross,” Tater concedes, but he doesn’t look too upset about it. In fact, his expression has taken on a devious quality. Snowy squints at him.

“Okay,” he says. “What the fuck did you do.”

At that, Tater’s grin turns downright shit-eating. “Nothing. Just eating from jar.”

“Okay, then why do you look so fuckin’ smug about it?”

Tater shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe if you try some, you find out.”

“Like hell I’m going to eat your mayonnaise, Tater.”

“Suit yourself. But maybe it surprise you.”

Snowy isn’t usually one to give in to Tater’s dumb pranks — but he’ll admit his curiousity has been piqued. There’s a good chance that this whole conversation is a ploy to get Snowy to eat mayonnaise from a jar. That said, if Snowy doesn’t figure out what the fuck is happening, it’s gonna kill him.

“Okay. Fine,” he relents. “Give me the damn jar.”

Tater hands it over gleefully. The jar is about half empty now, though it was full when Tater arrived. Just seeing the sheer volume of mayonnaise that Tater has eaten is enough to make Snowy feel queasy. Still, he persists. With the mayonnaise jar in one hand and Tater’s spoon in the other, Snowy reaches into the jar, scoops up a helping of the white stuff inside, and, after taking a moment to regret his life choices, puts the spoon into his mouth.

What the fuck?

Snowy swallows. He takes the spoon out of his mouth and holds the jar closer to get a better look. “That’s not mayonnaise. That’s fucking—”

“Is yoghurt,” Tater blurts, like he just can’t hold himself back anymore. “I put yoghurt in empty mayonnaise jar. Add some honey for the color. No one realize.”

“Okay. That’s pretty funny,” Snowy says. He hands the jar back to Tater. “It only worked though because it was believable. Your reputation with mayonnaise precedes you.”

“True,” Tater says. “Maybe next time I use mayonnaise for real.”

“Please don’t.”

Tater winks. “Okay, Snowy.”

“I’m serious. Our dietitian will kill you.”

“What dietitian don’t know can’t hurt her.”

Snowy rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky you’re bulking up this season.”

“Yes!” Tater exclaims. He flexes his arm. “Is all from mayonnaise.”

Snowy can’t help himself — he laughs. As ridiculous as Tater’s shenanigans are, they never fail to get a smile from him. Snowy might be a little exasperated, but he can’t deny he’s amused, too.

“You’re one of a fucking kind, Tater.”

“Oh, I know,” Tater replies with another wink. “See you later, Snowy. Time to bother Zimmboni and Bitty.”

“Don’t let Bitty kill you for culinary crimes.”

“Will try.”

As he watches Tater go, Snowy wonders, not for the first time, how Tater keeps coming up with this shit. He suspects there isn’t an easy answer. Tater is just like this.

And the Providence Falconers would be boring without him.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed this! i certainly had fun writing it. :)
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated but never expected. feel free to chat with me on [tumblr](https://pugglemuggle.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/pugglemuggle). Thanks!


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